


The Lion and the Hawke

by ThedasWitch



Series: Three Mages Walk Into a War [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Multi, Platonic Bonding, hawke and cullen both suck at the whole 'relating to others' thinf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedasWitch/pseuds/ThedasWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Adamant, Hawke is trying to figure out how she fits into the Inquisition she's decided to help. A chance encounter with Cullen leads to them clearing the air and maybe even starting to bond.</p><p>Same universe/timeline as "Three Mages...", but can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion and the Hawke

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a chapter for my ongoing longfic, "Three Mages Walk Into a War," but it didn't really fit the pacing I was doing. I still liked the scene, though, so I decided to post it as a one-shot.

Hawke felt like she couldn't breathe. Skyhold always seemed so crowded with Inquisition forces and rebel mages; people who looked at her like some kind of mythic hero. And with Varric away with the Inquisitor doing Maker knows what, there wasn't a single person she felt comfortable talking to. 

She was constantly exploring the castle, trying to find somewhere-- _ anywhere _ \--that she could get a moment’s peace. Even the chambers she’d been given weren't completely private, between servants caring for the place and people looking to meet the Champion in person. The library, the armory, and the tavern were no better; too much foot traffic, too many pairs of eyes tracking her movements. 

Finally, Hawke discovered that for a few hours each day, there was a section of the battlements past a crumbling tower that was effectively deserted. It became a habit to sneak up whenever she could get away, eat a small meal alone, and use the privacy to read one of her rare letters from Carver or Fenris. 

Carver’s missives were always vague. He couldn’t tell her much about what the Wardens had him doing, or even where they had him doing it. The order was doing what they could to rebuild after Adamant, but from the little he’d told her, Hawke gathered that it was going slowly. They tried to keep things light in their correspondence--as light as they could, with the world apparently falling to pieces around their ears. He didn’t like to talk about what had happened before she went into the Fade, about the Wardens and the Calling and the blood magic; she didn’t want to discuss what she’d seen when she’d fallen through the rift. So they kept it light: life before Kirkwall, stories from the time they’d spent with Athenril and her smugglers, news from Gamlen and Charade.

Their relationship had never been exactly simple, but they were both putting effort into maintaining it now. After they’d both faced death so many times, the two surviving Hawkes were doing what they could to hold onto the only family they had left.

Fenris wrote even less frequently than Carver. Hawke had read and reread every letter he’d sent a dozen times over, running her fingers over the thick slashes and spatters of ink. His words were always written carefully, and she could picture him in her mind’s eye, hunched over a table somewhere, his brow furrowed as he pressed the letters into the page. He always held the quill too tight, ever since she’d first started giving him lessons. The letters he sent were simple, no great declarations of love in their pages, but they were the only tangible connection she had to him. He wrote about the places he visited and the people he ran into;  _ “This place is crowded with lowlifes and apostates. You’d like it here… Isabela thinks her ship is the greatest to ever take sea. It smells as much like fish as any other.” _ Sometimes, if she was very lucky, he’d let something a little more personal slip in;  _ “I do miss you, my Hawke...I like traveling more when I am at your side.” _

And he always signed his letters, “ _ I am yours, _ ” with his name in careful, bold letters. She’d smile when she read it, remembering the lesson where he’d finally written it without her help for the first time. He’d been so proud of himself, and he’d written his name the same way ever since. 

Hawke wasn’t entirely sure where in Thedas Fenris was now; even with Varric’s help, letters took weeks to get to Skyhold, and by the time she read one, he’d probably already moved on. For all she knew, while she was sitting in Skyhold reading over one of his letters, he was in the middle of nowhere, fighting for his life.

She tried not to dwell on that thought too much. 

It was while she was rereading one of those letters that Cullen found her.

Although “found” might be the wrong word, in Hawke’s opinion. It was more like he stormed up the stairs without noticing her presence. He walked--stalked, really--to the battlements, leaned heavily on his hands, and looked out at the mountains with a sigh.

Hawke wasn’t sure what to do. He’d clearly sought a moment alone, just as she had. And though they’d they’d been civil in Kirkwall, after everything that had happened with Meredith and Anders, she wasn’t sure where they stood. Since she’d arrived at Skyhold, they’d barely said two words to each other that weren’t absolutely necessary. She knew that they’d have to talk eventually if they were ever going to have a chance at a even a civil working relationship. But somehow, interrupting him in the middle of a private moment did not seem like the way to begin that relationship.

In the end, the decision was made for her.

Cullen turned around, running his hands through his hair and leaning back against the stone wall. His eyes fell on where Hawke was sitting, and he immediately straightened. “Sorry, I… I didn’t realize. I thought… I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

“There usually isn’t,” Hawke replied, standing and crossing the small space to join him. “It’s a good spot.” She looked out at the mountains, brushing some of her orange hair out of her eyes.

Cullen shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Hiding from something?” she asked, hoping to find some common ground. Or at least to break the awkward lull they’d fallen into since she’d joined up with the Inquisition.

“Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “A bit, yes. And by the look on your face when you came up, it’s either a pack of ogres, or matchmaking mammas.”

He returned her laugh like she’d startled it out of him, and Hawke realized that it was the first time she’d heard him do so in all the years they’d been acquainted. 

“And do you have much experience with matchmaking mammas, Serah Hawke?” he asked.

“More than I ever wanted. My mother was  _ obsessed _ with seeing her children settled. And once Carver was away with the Wardens, and we were in the Amell estate, she put practically all of her energy into finding me a perfect noble husband.” It didn’t hurt to talk about Leandra, not the way it once had. Hawke had to smile now, remembering her mother’s exasperation. “Of course, most of  _ their _ mothers were less than thrilled to see their darling boys with a Dog Lord apostate, no matter who my grandparents had been.”

She turned to Cullen. “But you didn’t come up here to hear me complain about things my mother did years ago. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, no, you don’t need to do that. You were here first. I don’t want to make you feel unwelcome. It’s just…” Cullen trailed off, and sighed. “It’s hard, when she’s gone.”

Ah. That explained it. “I  _ knew  _ the Inquisitor wasn’t just stopping by your office so often to talk strategy,” she teased.

Cullen actually blushed at that, once again rubbing the back of his neck and stammering something that was probably meant to be words of some kind. Hawke made a mental note to play him in Wicked Grace some time; if all his tells were that obvious, he didn’t stand a chance.

“Calm down, Cullen,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” Even if it  _ was _ the worst-kept secret in Skyhold. “I’m glad you two have each other. It makes it easier, when there’s so much weighing on you.”

“Thank you.” Cullen smiled, softly, looking at something in the distance. “It does.”

He sighed “And I know she’s more than capable of handling herself--the most capable woman I’ve ever met--but still, when she’s away for so long, and I don’t know exactly where she is…”

Hawke nodded, thinking of her own lonely nights, wondering where Fenris was and what he was doing. “I understand. It’s not easy.”

A look of understanding flashed across Cullen’s face. “I’m sorry, Hawke, I didn’t think… I know you and the elf, Fenris, I mean, were… Well, I’m sure it’s hard for you, being here.” 

She looked down at her hands. “Harder than I like to admit.”

“Fenris is an impressive warrior. I don’t think anything will…” Cullen stopped, corrected himself. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I didn’t realize you knew that much about him,” Hawke said. “I mean, he was there when I fought Meredith, but there was a lot going on that night…”

“He was with you a lot, back in those days. Most of the Templars knew him, truth be told. Between nights at the Hanged Man and your business around the Gallows, their paths crossed often enough.” Cullen watched her face as he spoke, and when she didn’t immediately shut him down, he continued. “I thought he was a good man. And my men always spoke well of his talents. Once, I got a report from the Hanged Man that a recruit made a remark about Ferelden apostates needing to be taught a lesson, and your Fenris had him by the neck and up against the wall before he knew what was happening.”

Hawke laughed. “That’s Fenris. Always did have the strangest way of showing he cared.”

“What I’m trying to say,” said Cullen, “is that he can handle himself. And… I’m sure you don’t need to worry. About him.” He looked away, his entire body screaming how awkward he felt trying to reassure her.

She was touched that he’d tried, though. Especially given their history, she’d barely expected him to speak to her, much less attempt to provide some comfort. She bit her lip, unsure if she should just accept it and move on, or if he’d appreciate her trying to return the sentiment.

After a moment, Hawke reached out and laid a hand on his arm. Cullen started at the contact, his eyes flying to her face. “Thank you, Cullen. And...I’m sure Lanyla is doing fine, wherever she is. She’s a talented mage, and I’ve seen her in combat. I’m sure you don’t need to worry.”

She turned away after a moment. Maker’s breath, this wasn’t how she’d seen her afternoon going. “And with that awkward attempt at support, I’m off.” She started to walk away, but paused at the top of the stairs. “And… Cullen?”

“Yes?”

  
“If you need to talk about this again with someone, well… I know our history is sort of… complicated, but I do understand how you’re feeling. More than most people. And…” she hesitated, not sure if she was crossing a line in the carefully navigated truce they’d established since she’d arrived. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good man too.”


End file.
